Brink
by Sayble
Summary: "When your back is against the wall, the only thing you can do is fight."
1. Chapter 1

"Stay strong, it won't be long now."

A slow nod is my response, I feel... lightheaded.

...I feel weak.

Through the metal cages we are kept in, I only have a limited view of the prison, yet I drink in every square inch of this forsaken hellhole.

How long as it been? Weeks? Months...?

...**_Years?_**

It's all meaningless, time is irrelevant in here, I feel like this cage is all I've ever known.

A grunt, Geralt is at it again. The metal rebar doesn't budge as he kicks away at the the cell walls. Only a dull thunk in response.

My fur has all but blackened from the dark magic, and teal lines could be seen where the flesh had been branded, the Yordle fur scorched off in those Noxian

"searings": Runic experiments that had been practiced upon the inmates.

Not all of them survived this ordeal, but I stayed strong, fueled by nothing but a desire to live, to see another day, grim it may be.

More screaming is heard down the hall.

I wish I could have said goodbye to my loved one's before I left on my journey...

Who knew it would be my last.

Even now, the thrashing and sreaming can be heard from down the prison halls, a constant reminder that we are all one step away from the same fate.

To live in fear, this is what it truly means, existence reduced to nothing but this cage.

To see the next meal, to live life by the second, by the moment.

Then silence, the screaming is over, replaced by my own steady breathing in the darkness.

My stomach aches, a dull pounding that never ceases to go away.

They hadn't given us a proper meal in weeks, reduced to nothing more then scrambling beggars when the guards tossed us leftovers every once in a blue moon.

Like animals.

No...something far less.

The hunger, the pain, the mind searing, the runic imprints that have tattooed themselves across my now barren and scarred chest...

To my left, Geralt warily backs away from the rebar, his daily exercise sated for the time being. None of us talk, I simply sit on the stone floor, awaiting our fate.

Geralt takes a spot besides me upon a wooden stool, more or less a makeshift piece of wood that he had propped up against the wall in order to avoid sitting on the filth that

covered our cell.

It's moist enough to condensate unto the ceiling and drip it's contents down on us like a sewer line.

Maybe it actually is, who knows.

I want to retch, but I know that no one would clean it, no one's cleaned this cell since I've been locked up here. I feel sick, the stench is revolting.

I want to cry, but I know my body doesn't have enough water to do so.

Bastards like to keep us half starved.

Geralt's hunched over outline in the darkness belies the strength of spirit in his heart, fingers set to work upon a small piece of ivory.

A souvenir from Bandle City.

He looks up from his ministrations, a weak smile plays across his lips.

His bloodshot eyes do little to reassure me.

Grim is more like it.

This is our last night together, alive.

Something we're are both dully aware of.

They told me the punishment for black magic is execution. I pleaded, **begged **to them to see reason, yet my words fell upon deaf ears.

They condemned me, and I was taken away.

I'm going to die here.

Tonight, tommorow, it doesn't matter anymore.

The tally marks on the wall, scratched into with a piece of rock are my only reassurance that time has actually passed.

1000 tallies, the faint, yet visible lines are all I have left in retaining my sanity.

It's been 3 years.

But then again...

Time is meaningless at this point.

1000 tallies ago I set off as an adventurer.

Yes. That's what I wanted.

A dull feeling in my stomach, it wasn't hunger.

That longing...I wanted to go out there.

I had spent so much time cooped up in Bandle city...

I obsessed over what lied beyond.

It was all I thought about. To go out **there.**

I never made it that far, of course

I was played. A naive adventurer like me.

Just another victim in this cruel world.

Yordles all heard the stories. In Bandle city, we were warned about this place, a cesspool of corruption, evil, and deceit. A place where darkness ruled, and

morality was just a word.

But when I heard there was a trade route leading to Noxus, I couldn't resist, and booked the next caravan as a trader.

Curse my curiosity. That insatiable thirst for **adventure**, the double edged sword that all Yordles are born with.

I remember a couple of bandits, the hiss of steel as they drew their swords.

Our client was nowhere to be seen.

It was a setup.

We were doomed to take the fall from the beginning.

It wasn't until they found the tomes in my satchel that I was sentenced to death for black magic.

Despite having no knowledge of this craft, Noxian customs saw me as a threat.

I was taken away, left to rot here.

Fingers drift to the scar on my chest, the serial code denoting my status as a prisoner.

6015\. My fingers can feel the numbers carved into my chest like braille

I remember the brand as it scarred my chest, the panic in my eyes as I was chained to the table, sprawled out, facing the ceiling.

The red hot metal as it embedded itself into my fur.

I remember screaming, than blacking out, than screaming again.

And through it all, they never spoke.

Just a cold silence amidst the smell of burning fur and flesh.

Mine, among all else.

Someone lays a heavy hand on my shoulder.

I look up, broken from my temporary state of thought.

Save for the heavy scar that cuts along his left eye towards the right side of his neck, Geralt remains relatively unscathed, his golden mane turned a dirty gray from the

time we have spent under Noxian captivity.

Geralt's been here much longer then I have.

He never went into detail about what happened. It must have been bad.

The scars across his face give me the impression that he's seen and done things I wouldn't like to talk about, either.

It wasn't much, but he's all I have left, and whatever he's done, i'm willing to let slide in exchange for a friend.

**Among anything else, loneliness is what I fear most.**

We counted the days together, perhaps to oblivion, vowing that we would one day we would be free.

But that was years ago.

And we're very different people now.

Somewhere along the line of attempting to stay sane in these walls I had become jaded.

Gone were my aspirations, my lifelong dream of exploring this world, whatever lied beyond, I didn't care.

I was sick of it, I just wanted to survive.

Such a far off dream now, almost absurd.

Almost surreal...

"Veigar."

His voice snaps me out of my trance, I realize I had been staring.

I can see the concern etched unto his face, and quickly stand, despite my small stature not making much of a difference."

The effort blurs my vision.

"I'm fine." Yet anymore talk and I will have to lie down in the filth. My voice comes out as a raspy squeak.

His expression remains unchanging, clearly unconvinced.

"Rest, I'll keep watch now, you can sleep on the dry spot." His voice too is strained, but the searing had not damaged his vocal cords unlike my own.

A small price to pay for my life.

Abashed but too tired to avert my eyes, I simply nod and shuffle over.

Used to the rancid smell, I close my eyes and lie down upon the cold metal.

Maybe I won't wake up this time...

**Geralt POV**

I Know vigor alone won't be enough to escape this place.

Not all of us will make it, we're starved, tortured halfway out of our minds, some of these inmates haven't seen a glimpse of sunlight in decades.

But it's better then rotting here, forgotten, alone.

Anything is better then that.

As I take one last look at his sleeping form, almost serene, I feel a deep sense of regret welling up inside.

This isn't the first time I've left someone behind like this.

But he's a tough kid, I know he'll survive.

My breath fogs up the cold cell.

Part of me wants to take him along...

But he'll only slow me down.

And we're out of time.

It's time to move, now or never.

* * *

**Veigar POV**

"Get up"

I stir, but drowsiness keeps my eyes shut.

How long have I slept for?

"I said, GET UP!'

Abruptly, I'm grabbed by the scruff of my neck and violently thrown into the cell walls.

The impact jars my senses. My eyes fly wide open in shock, wildly scanning the cell.

Then I see them, my heart begins to beat faster.

The red and black sheen of Noxian plate armor.

What's going on? Why are there soldiers in my cell?

In the darkness, one of them calls out.

"He isn't here."

A gruff voice curses in response.

"Impossible, he can't have gone far, search the area, I want him dead or alive..."

The cold sensation of metal as i'm grabbed by two steel gauntlets and forcefully dragged to my feet, the frontal fabric of my ragged garments tearing in his grip.

I can smell the alcohol on his breath, my face mere inches from the Noxian soldier, his teeth grit in the dim lighting.

"Where is he, and don't play any games with us, we know you're in on this."

At first I have no idea what he's talking about, only the growing fear that these soldiers are about to do something really horrible to me.

That's when it hits me.

Geralt is nowhere to be seen.

It takes all the willpower I have to not panic.

I'm brought back to my predicament as a metal gauntlet strikes me across the face. The pain is blinding, I spit out a globule of crimson as I recoil in his grip.

'Answer me! Don't try to play innocent with us, we know you're in on this!" I can hear the anger in his voice, the other soldiers nervously pace around in the cell.

"Sir, we don't have much time, the other prisoners are quickly-"

"Shut it, Feyd! We have the situation under control, another word from you and i'm gutting you along with the rest of this lot."

"Y-yes sir."

It's clear that they're on edge, but from what?

He hits me again, this time in the gut. I double over, released from his iron vice, my small frame kneeling over the filth in my cell.

Through the corner of my eye, another soldier runs in, clearly out of breath.

"We have word from District C, it's a full on riot! the prisoners are revolting!"

My breath gets caught.

A riot?

What the hell is going on...?!

A pause, the news seems to only further their agitation.

Then after a couple seconds, he motions his men to step forward.

"We don't have time for anymore questions, get him out of the cell."

I hear the clank of metal as they briskly move in and grab me, legs barely finding the strength to stand.

My arms are wrenched behind my back and tied together with a thick binding of rope, the fabric cutting into my wrists as they did so.

I'm shoved out of the cell. I want to take a breath, but they hurriedly move me down the hallway. Looking around, the inmates eye me.

Row upon row of them.

They all look like they're expecting something...

But what?

A sharp pain as i'm struck on the back of my head.

"Eyes forward!"

I warily continue on, the guards escorting me from all sides.

Then the guards stop, i'm held in place by my surrounding escort.

This isn't right.

Why are we stopping?

I look around, we're still in the middle of the hallway, the inmates are watching me, yet no one says anything.

The entire block is dead silent, save for the dripping of sewage and my own heavy breathing.

It's faint at first, but I hear the ever growing sound of footsteps not too far ahead.

The Noxian sergeant mutters something akin to a curse under his breath.

"Damn...we're too late."

My escort seems to be bracing itself for something, none of them move, save for the slight anticipation of a battle that is yet to come.

Then the giant double doors at the end of the hallway begin to open.

With a loud groan, the rusted gears turn as the doors are slowly parted.

"Swords!" The hiss of steel as my escort draws their blades, the sheen of Noxian metal gleams in the dim lighting.

Slowly, the entrance opens itself. Inch by inch, the double doors part, until finally I can make out multiple silhouettes framed between the doorway.

Slowly, they come into view, the guards around me have taken a battle formation, akin to a phalanx but with less people.

My heart stops, and I see him.

He's come back for me.

Accompanied by 6 or so inmates. They're all armed, swords and clubs at the ready.

No one makes the first move, Geralt stands in our path, barring our exit out of the block, his small stature belied by the 5 extremely burly men on both his flanks.

Blood stains his prison garment, and multiple cuts can be seen along his exposed arms and chest.

Dried blood can be seen on the hand and a half Noxian blade carried in his right arm.

He's been fighting.

**He's been killing.**

The Sergeant behind me barks a set of orders before moving up, blade at the ready.

"They're just prisoners! Don't give them a damn inch!"

All inmates are awake, and all eyes are on the conflict that is now quickly building in tension out on the prison hallway.

I realize that there's only 6 guards in this room.

It's an even fight, and if Geralt wins...

_We might have a clear shot of getting out of here._

**Geralt POV**

This is bad.

It's too soon for another scuffle, we already lost 3 taking out prison guards.

There's 6 of em. I'd reckon they've had better training, and are better armed.

This is gonna be much tougher then before.

These are actual Noxian soldiers.

No matter which way I cut it, we aren't coming out of this without casualties.

But this district has to be taken.

And I ain't leaving without that kid.

"Alright boys, you know the drill, let's snuff these bastards."

I begin my forward advance, men trailing closely behind, weapons bared, eyes set forward.

None of us are formally trained, but all of us have the street smarts that require you to survive in a place like this.

As I close distance, the first soldier takes a step forward, blade drawn in a vertical slice. It doesn't come too fast, but the blade itself is probably thick enough to split

my skull wide open. My sword isn't as broad, but it's enough to intercept the blade and violently catch it with the cross guard, locking our swords as my men run in to engage

the rest of the group.

"I'm going to skin you alive, Yordle." I grit my teeth, breath fogging the crossed steel.

With a quick shunt, we both back off, circling one another in a slow counterclockwise fashion.

The dance of death has begun.

I get a quick glance at the red helmet. He's a sergeant, guy probably has some training. Doesn't look like I'll beat him in a straight up fight either.

Up close, he's a good foot taller than i am. Since i'm a Yordle, I don't have much in the way of reach, I have to somehow get past his defenses with an already short

sword.

We make a couple exchanges, I see his sword arc left, and I twist my torso to dodge it.

A little to late, as the damn thing catches on my abdomen as I try to maneuver past the swing.

I grit my teeth as the cold steel makes the slight pass, it hurts, but the blow was only slight.

I can't afford to make another mistake like that, however.

We close again, this time I opt for a more frontal approach. Bringing the blade perpendicular to his, i feint left as he tries to skewer me in my charge.

But i'm shorter than what he's probably used to, and he overshoots by a couple inches, the blade passing over my head as i close under his guard.

Skidding to a halt under his outstretched arms still in midswing, I bring both arms in a horizontal slash, the sweat on my palms almost causing me to lose grip of the hilt

as I bring the blade across his chest in a rightward swing.

What should have been a fatal wound is deflected by that Noxian plate, sparks flying from where I scratched him.

We both back off from that brief exchange. I see sweat beading on his exposed forehead, he lowers himself to adjust for my reduced size.

Damn. That was my chance, he isn't going to let me slip through again.

I lick my chapped lips as I realize this is going to have to be fought fair and square.

We circle for a bit before closing in once more.

I deflect the first swing as I close. It's not like I have a choice, he has the advantage of reach. I need to be at a range where my blade is effective.

He parries a quick stab, then another, I angle the blade towards his legs in order to throw him off, but he's quick on that as well and sweeps the forward leg back before

bringing his sword to my neck in a roundabout sweep.

I deflect the swing haphazardly, the edge grazing my collarbone in a painful, messy drag.

I'm getting tired, we're underfed in this damn prison, soon he's going to beat me simply because he had dinner.

No, I can't lose.

Not here.

There's one thing I can try.

I make a forward charge, blade squared for his chest. He grins, and prepares himself for my charge.

As I close, I see him readying his own sword, abusing the reach he has in order to skewer me first.

But that isn't going to happen.

Inches before contact, I drop to my knees, sliding underneath him in a low slide.

His eyes widen as he realizes my plan.

But it's too late.

My blade is angled straight into his lower abdomen, the link in which the plate cuts off for the leather waste band.

The only real exposed part that I can reach.

Momentum drives it home, and i feel the blade sink into his flesh like a 9 year old sinks into a parfait.

His eyes widen in surprise, I twist the blade for good measure.

"You...bastard..." Are his final words before collapsing onto the cold, steel flooring.

I realize that a couple more inches, and he would have hacked my left shoulder clean off, the red tracer on my side is enough to remind me how close that was.

It actually shouldn't have worked, if I had missed the narrow tasset, I would have bounced clean off the plate and he would have hacked me to death.

I was lucky.

Breathing heavily, I quickly wrench the blade out of his corpse, it's time to get to work finishing the rest of these guys off.

**Veigar POV**

The last soldier turns on me, blade drawn.

My mind is telling me to move, but my body is frozen, i'm too panicked to do anything.

"I can't..." I hear myself mutter, "I can't..."

I see the flash of steel, and screw my eyes shut, waiting for the inevitable.

But it never came, I slowly open my eyes, and feel something wet on my face.

It's blood, but it isn't mine.

Looking up, a sharp, metal piece of rebar has been forced through his exposed neck, his eyes wide in shock, I can barely believe it myself as he abruptly falls on top of me,

the weight is crushing.

Moments later, the weight is alleviated as someone pulls him off, it only takes me a second to recognize who my savior is.

"Geralt, you came back for me..." I'm shaky and out of breath, he pulls me up before kneeling back down to rummage through the fallen soldier's gear.

I see it, the dagger he had drawn to end my life a couple seconds prior.

"I hope you know how to use it, because you're going to have to."

It takes me a second to register that he's giving it to me. I reach out and wrap my fingers around the leather pommel. It feels heavy, and clumsy in my hands. I've never

swung a blade in my life.

I never imagined myself doing something even remotely close to this.

Geralt grabs the side sword from the soldier's scabbard, the blade is revealed in a flash of light, the odd glow of the prison walls bathing the blade a deep blue.

I can hear him curse under his breath.

Damn, we lost a couple." I realize that four of the inmates were slain in the ensuing battle for my freedom, Geralt passes a bloody hand over "Renaults" eyes, closing them.

"Remember, aim for the tendons, you and I are shorter than Humans, that's the only chance we have."

He's serious. Amidst the chaos, I realize that we're going to have to fight our way out.

Even as we speak, more Noxian soldiers come our way, intent on bringing us down.

"I hope you know how to use it" The words echo in my mind.

I've never stood up for anything in my life.

And now, the only thing I have to stand up for **is **my life.

As the men come into view, I can make out the red and black plate colors of Noxus embroidered onto the plate.

To my left, Geralt mutters under his breath, sword at the ready.

I count 11.

Can I do this?

Can I kill a man?

"This is it, do you want to live? Or do you want to die?"

There's no choice, my survival depends on the death of these soldiers.

They stand in our way as but one obstacle in the many that we must overcome.

It's them our us.

My hand tightens on the piece of metal between my hands.

I feel something I haven't felt in a long time.

**Rage.**

The rush of adrenaline as they close distance, my dagger drawn with both hands at the hilt.

Yes, this is it. And this is where I begin my story.


	2. Chapter 2

Growing up was a harsh lesson.

They berated me for my small size and social ineptitude.

Even among a city of halflings there were outcasts.

Because of this, I was driven by this insatiable urge to prove myself.

While they skipped, played, and sang on the streets, I was locked up in my room, poring over ancient texts and manuscripts, gaining some clue as to what lies

beyond.

Seeking ancient, forgotten knowledge.

Magic.

It became an obsession...

For the longest time books were the only company I ever needed.

Sick of being the runt of the litter, I cursed my own weakness.

I wanted to be somebody. Anybody.

Perhaps my solitude would have driven me insane...

Perhaps it already has.

"So what happened next?" A high pitched, playful voice throws me out of my train of thought.

My glowing, yellow eyes narrow and fixate upon the girl before me.

That stupid pink hat she wears is pretty ridiculous.

Almost as ridiculous as mine.

The fairy that always accompanies her seems to be fidgeting with my staff, interested in the mana I have stored there.

I wave it away in annoyance. The pink apparition crosses its arms, I can tell it doesn't approve of me.

Part of me wants to scoff, to tell her to go away.

What does she think this is, story time?

This is no story.

And I'm no hero.

She's heard enough.

But deep down... another part of me...

With a resigned sigh, I look up towards the night sky.

The memories are so fresh in my head, it's surreal.

* * *

**Noxian High Command**

**1432 Hours**

**...**

**The general paces to and fro, the mahogany desk that is normally occupied now vacant in his rage**

**"You are all! INCOMPETENT!"**

**The soldiers flinch, this isn't the first time they've had to bring news this bad.**

**They can only imagine what the repercussions are this time around.**

**No one speaks, except for the General's heavy pacing.**

**There's no excuse this time, what were they to say? That a couple of prisoners managed to free an entire cell block?**

**Madness.**

**It's an insult just to think about. An insult over everything Noxus stands for.**

**What's the meaning of strength if his men can't even quell a prison riot?**

**"And to think you're all supposed to be trained soldiers." The crow on his left shoulder caws disapprovingly, it's multiple eyes nesting on the rookie who**

**shrunk backwards ever so slightly in it's gaze.**

**How dare these...prisoners, a bunch of rag tag, half starved insects have the AUDACITY to challenge his might?**

**There's no time for punishment, he'll deal with these soldiers later.**

**"Send for Darius." He says through grit teeth, barely containing the rising anger in his voice. **

**This shouldn't be even be needed.**

**The soldiers hurriedly bow before filing out the wooden doors from his office, relieved that no one was being killed this time around.**

**Curse their ineptitude, curse those prisoners, forcing his hand like this. They shouldn't even be worth his attention, let alone time.**

* * *

**Veigar POV**

11 of them

Pikes raised high, shields held low.

A phalanx.

They want to spear us as we try to escape.

My natural instinct is to run, but I know that there isn't any choice but to fight.

We have to take this district, our escape depends on it.

"This is it!" Geralt is first to charge, we follow suit, ready to die at a moments notice.

Whatever happens, happens.

I feel odd.

A

It's as if my entire life has been building up to this moment.

And this is the breaking point.

Alive.

I feel alive.

I analyze the men moments before we hit the phalanx.

Suicidal at best, however, this is as good as it gets, I hear the Noxian foot soldiers jeering at our approach.

"Hold! Hold!"

We slam into the shield line, a loud staccato of flesh meeting flesh, steel meeting steel.

The impact jars my shoulder, I'm running on pure adrenaline at this point.

A spear narrowly misses my left cheek as I dive through the front line, leaving the brunt of the collision to the bigger inmates.

One of the pike men realizes this and focuses on me.

We make eye contact as I dive past his forward thrust, missing his mark by inches: my heart.

Coming out of the roll, I spring into a low crouch. eyes narrowing in my forward advance.

I level my dagger for a quick jab at his left leg.

_"Go for the tendons. It's your only chance."_

He steps back and reaches for his sword, but I'm faster and manage to get him in the shin, rivulets of red running down the steel as the dagger is withdrawn with a violent

wrench.

"Bastard!" He kicks me in the chest, I fall flat on my back gasping for breath.

He drops to his functional right knee, gasping in pain.

The steel flooring screeches as I scramble to my feet.

This is my chance.

Going for his neck in a reckless charge, I try to angle the pointed dagger into his throat with both hands.

But he's quick, and had already managed to draw his sword despite the wound. With a parry, I'm thrown off balance, stumbling backwards as I try to recover.

The next strike catches me off guard, drawing blood from my left shoulder.

A hiss, it feels like someone just dipped my entire left side in ice cold water.

The pain comes a second later, I realize that the wound is deeper than I first thought.

Eyes narrow, he has the advantage in both size and reach.

I'm not a trained soldier.

I'll have to be more careful this time around.

He's bent in a low crouch, trying to stay balanced on his remaining good leg, blood pools on the ground from where I managed to get him.

If I can just get him in the other leg...

He'll be vulnerable enough for me to get a shot at his exposed neck.

Yes.

That's the only way this is going to work.

The flooring makes a screech as I skid across the steel flooring, intent on bringing him down.

He grits his teeth and steels the blade to meet mine.

I see the swing come as I charge, a diagonal slash aimed towards my abdomen, hard to miss from his position, but easy enough to read.

His right arm arcs low, and I bring my own to meet it, attempting to parry the slash with a diagonal left, dagger brought low as to keep the blade away from my chest.

Momentum brings the blade down to my hands and skids off, drawing blood from my wrist. The small blade makes deflecting his strikes extremely difficult.

Ignoring the sting in my right hand, the dagger finds its way past his guard and into a gap in the plate.

He tries to back away, however i'm already too close.

I've got him now, there's no way I can miss from this distance.

With both arms, I sink the blade into his right thigh.

I hear him cry out as he collapses, unable to support his own weight.

Grabbing him by the collar, I raise my right arm, blade angled towards his throat.

His eyes widen as he realizes it's over.

Time seems to slow, a cold realization as it dawns on me the gravity of my actions.

He's at my mercy, yet I can't bring myself to finish him off.

Seconds tick into eternity.

Can I do it?

Can I kill someone like this in cold blood?

I hesitate, dagger shaking in my grip, my lips are dry, palms sticky with sweat.

My moment of weakness is promptly exploited, however, as he punches me in the gut.

I double over from the pain, falling onto my back, losing my grip on the knife, the blade skidding away out of arms reach.

Moments later, I feel a heavy weight on my chest, I realize that he's straddling me, kept in place by his knees, I can't move.

Then air is cut off as he presses his fingers into my throat.

He's going to strangle me.

A grimace can be seen under his visor, I can't breath, my windpipe being crushed under his grip.

I shouldn't have hesitated.

I should have killed him when I had the chance.

Now i'm going to die.

Head throbbing from the lack of oxygen, I frantically feel around for anything. ANYTHING.

Vision is slowly beginning to blur, I'll lose consciousness in a couple seconds if I don't break him out of this grip.

Then I feel it, a metal pipe, dropped from one of the inmates. My fingers close around the rusty handle in a rush of adrenaline.

With one strike, I bring the pipe across his face.

The force breaks the metal pipe on collision, he's knocked off to my side with a sickening thud, his infantry helmet falling off in the

process, rolling onto the blood soaked gravel.

Breathing heavily, I quickly stand up and back off, waiting for his next move.

But it never comes.

He isn't moving.

Cautiously, I walk up to his prone form for a closer inspection.

His eyes are glassy, facing the ceiling in a mixture of shock and pain.

He's dead.

I killed him.

I actually killed him.

Guilt, followed by remorse and sorrow threaten to overtake me.

Droplets of water hit the surface from where i'm standing.

It's raining? Impossible, we're indoors.

No.

These are tears.

I'm crying.

But now isn't the time for tears.

In taking his life, I've also taken something else.

A part of my soul.

What have I done?

"Push! Forward!" I hear the voice of Geralt, the large body of men pressing the Noxians back gives us more breathing room, the melee now more fragmented, formation successfully broken.

I grab the Noxian infantry sword lying on his corpse and attempt to rejoin Geralt as he struggles with a much larger man, the melee intensifying between the inmates and the remaining Noxian forces.

He's hurt, bad. The first thing I notice is the cut along his chest bleeding profusely and one eye shut from blunt trauma, his teeth are clenched as the man

makes another blow, something Geralt narrowly avoids with another roll to his left, trying to get past the immense guard of that sword.

I try to come closer, however, the fighting around me is too intense to maneuver around, and running through it is a sure sign of stupidity.

Watching the exchange only makes it more apparent that Geralt is losing, it's only a matter of time before he slips up and gets killed.

I had to get to him.

With inhuman force, I help the inmates shove the Noxians backwards, inch by inch, step by step.

We have nothing to lose, desperation is the sole driving force in this struggle.

As we push forward to the district exit, I see an opening, a small gap that I need, Geralt and the bladesman are left alone amidst a pile of bodies, infantryman and

inmates who tried to interfere.

The sword is heavy in my hand, clearly made for a human, Yordles unaccounted for.

It takes every cell in my body to swing the blade, arms burning from the effort.

The attack is sloppy, I ricochet off of the plate, losing my grip on the sword and falling onto my back, however this was enough to throw him off balance.

As he stumbles forward, Geralt darts underneath his towering form and slides the blade into his throat, crimson steel protruding from the other side of his neck.

A few moments pass as the soldier writhes about in his death throes before Geralt unceremoniously dumps his corpse off to the side and pries the sword from his fingers.

"There's only a couple of them left, let's gut these bastards and get out of here."

I nod, the thought of more killing makes me sick to my stomach.

However, I realize that it's necessary.

Blade in hand, I set about joining Geralt in his grisly work.

The struggle was quick, albeit brutal. We lost 4 prisoners in the ensuing conflict, however the guards were slain, and we had taken control of the cell district.

Furthermore, we managed to fight our way out of the cell and free everyone in our block.

All of whom unconditionally followed him.

Before his capture, Geralt told me he used to fight in the war.

Which war, it was never clear.

But he looks back on it bitterly.

Eventually, at wits end, Geralt gave in, exasperated.

"Not all of you are going to make it, if you wanna take your chances off in some other direction now is the time. This isn't going to be pretty."

No one moved. Geralt swore silently.

"Alright we're moving, grab some weapons and lets go."

Even now, running along the prison yard into the next district, roughly 30 or 40 prisoners are not too far off behind.

I take in a deep breath of fresh air, a deep contrast to the stifling stench of our cell.

It's the first time I've seen the night sky in what feels like an eternity.

Maybe it's our last.

Regardless, I plan on seeing this through to the end.


	3. Chapter 3

I once met a man on my brief travels.

He was on the run, a fugitive from Ionia.

The same look in his eye that I have now.

A cornered animal with nowhere to go.

"The road to ruin is shorter then you think."

I was naive, innocent to the world that lay before me...

But he was right.

* * *

**Noxian High Command**

**Prison Exit**

**1530 Hours**

* * *

Once more, the heavy stampede of boots as we make the final advance, my heart beats faster as the adrenaline kicks in.

A defiant roar as the inmates wash over the field, not a break in the momentum as we close distance.

I can see the red gilded helmets moments before impact.

Their cold, dead set eyes.

The cruel sneer of Noxian arrogance.

They expect to emerge victorious by a huge margin.

Without Geralt, I'm scared. That's the first thought.

I'm scared to die.

I don't want to be forgotten in this prison yard, and so I desperately charge with the rest of the inmates, hoping that maybe this nightmare will end.

The front line collides with the Noxian forces, once again my blood stained hands are brought forth as the blade is swung into the Noxian pike line.

But it isn't pretty.

These aren't the soldiers we've been fighting before.

They hold fast.

Our first wave is completely decimated as the pike line spears the frontal assault, defiant cries as inmates are impaled upon the Noxian spearheads.

It's nothing short of a massacre.

We redouble our efforts with another push, pipes, shivs and swords meeting steel as we quickly reattempt to close the distance.

The red eyes of the raven banner stare back as I hack away at the spearheads, desperate for an opening.

The dead and dying lie across the concrete, inmates breath their last as our numbers quickly dwindle.

Almost instinct as I push away the fatigue and struggle forward.

The necessity of living is the only driving force in this entire fight.

I don't want to die, not here.

The pike men in front rear back for another thrust.

We're forced back once again as the second wave of inmates are cut down en masse.

The deaths leave a bitter taste in my mouth as they fall.

They might have been able to hold this phalanx forever.

That is, if the ground hadn't become so slick with blood that the frontal line of spear men actually lost their footing.

More than enough to break through.

We surge forward into the fray, gaining ground, breaking through shields and spears alike.

The hiss of steel as they draw arming swords in response, spears too large for close quarters.

A sense of dread as the melee intensifies.

It's the first time I've seen a vanguard up close.

Bandle City used to have stories about the Noxian elite and how they carried off misbehaving Yordles to their graves.

It isn't far from the truth.

I can see his breath fog the steel as our blades clash, his strength proves to be overwhelming, blue eyes glint under that iron helmet.

He's overzealous.

Instinct is telling me to move, but I stand my ground, absorbing the full brunt of his blows, waiting for the opportunity to present itself...

My arms are quickly tiring, Yordles are not meant for this kind of physical strain.

An opening comes in the form of a forward thrust.

I feint a low right in response, and he brings the sword a bit lower to compensate, however my small form allows me to adjust the point of impact on the fly, something

he realizes a little too late.

The point of his blade skids off the edge of my cross guard and I make my move.

Stepping past the riposted sword, I allow momentum to drive him forward, way past the intended mark, and into my blade.

The mail deflects the otherwise fatal blow, and he doubles back, breathing hard, sweat beads upon his exposed temple, as is mine.

All the fighting around me has deafened as I focus upon my adversary, time seems to slow as I strafe to the right, trying to abuse the fact that his right

hand can't keep up with my movements.

But he's left handed.

It comes quick, and I don't completely anticipate the swing as he steps forward.

The steel bites into my shoulder as my guard was slightly off.

Wrenching myself free of the blade, I stagger back and inspect the wound.

It's bad, I bring back my hand only to see it covered in fresh blood.

Looking up towards my adversary, a wild grin pierces through the dark underneath that helmet.

There's a clear difference between us in terms of skill, reach, and equipment.

I'm outmatched, the only way I'm going to land a hit is to take one, and reach the soft spot between those gaps.

His figure blurs in a swift series of movements, closing distance at a speed belying the heavy armor.

One chance.

I feint once more to the right, this time not bothering to double back.

Another sharp pain as the sword is brought down.

A red tracer runs across my chest before exploding in a shower of blood.

"Gotcha, kid, its over."

It's not over.

I can't die here...

With a high pitched cry belying my size, I push through the pain and angle my sword to pierce his tasset.

His eyes widen in surprise. Momentum drives it home, the Noxian edge slides through his stomach with a dull thud.

As he dies, I almost collapse, wrenching out the sword as he falls backwards.

Steadying myself on one knee, breathing comes out in short bursts as blood spatters the cold pavement.

It's mine.

The pain comes in a wave of agonizing heat across my chest.

It's not a superficial wound.

I'll succumb soon if it's not treated.

Without any immediate target, a cursory glance is all it takes to see how we've been faring.

It isn't good.

Everywhere I look, Noxian infantry surround our forces.

We've become boxed in from the rest of the inmates, the fighting has become an all out melee, all vestiges of strategy broken down to nothing more then a savage brawl.

I'm too wounded to continue at the pace I had been going before.

And to make matters even worse...

"That's far enough."

My blood turns to ice.

It's the man I saw before, cleaving through inmates like nothing.

The General of Noxus.

He's personally led his own unit to crush our little uprising.

I cannot win in this condition.

Everywhere I look, the situation becomes only more grim.

Reality hits me.

We're boxed in.

That, and there's only a handful of us left.

I have no chance here.

The sword shakes in my hand, teeth chatter under the cold night sky, I barely have enough strength to stand, the wounds already taking their toll.

Another cleave, he swaths through friend and foe alike in a slow, deliberate advance, every swing bringing forth a crimson arc, limbs flying every which way.

I'm going to die here, i'm underfed, tired...

I just want to go home.

* * *

**Geralt POV**

A bunch of unlucky bastards have to die this day...

Including...

My stomach turns with guilt.

I should have brought the kid with me.

There aren't many of us left, roughly a couple hundred remain standing against the Noxian vanguard.

We brace ourselves for the inevitable charge through the infantry line, my breath is shallow at this point, it's been nonstop fighting from the beginning.

But This is it.

We trample through the shield wall.

I cut through another man, my eyes sting through the crimson spray of blood.

We've closed distance with the spear men.

Blood stains my sword as I savagely cut through the ranks.

We're sustaining a lot of damage, I try to ignore the almost complete decimation of our frontline speared on the pikes.

Minutes pass by at an agonizingly slow pace, every inch is paid for in blood.

Heavy losses on both sides, only a hundred of us still stand...

Yet despite this, we're making actual, tangible progress.

Sergeants shout commands, desperate to form another phalanx as we push on through.

"Shields! Walls! Up!"

But they don't know what it's like.

To spend every waking moment craving just a taste of freedom.

And now that our freedom might just become a reality...

There's no way in hell are they stopping us now.

"Give it to em, boys!"

A savage roar as we crush another line of infantry, desperately mowing through the throngs of Noxian soldiers as they try to form a defensive formation.

More and more wounds are being accumulated as I quickly duel and dispatch infantrymen, each one bringing me dangerously closer to the brink.

But I don't plan on stopping now.

We're going to make it, and they know it.

A couple more minutes, a couple, bloodstained minutes later.

A sigh of relief.

The exit.

But at the back of my mind lingers that one, burning thought.

Where is he?

"We're leaving! Let's move!"

It's Freya, I recognize him as one of the original inmates who broke out of District C, his stocky, muscular build barrels on through inmates and other soldiers alike.

He motions for me to pick up the pace, the flash of steel and crimson as he cuts through another soldier.

For some reason every step becomes more difficult, the realization that we were the only ones to make it.

He should be here, waiting for me at the gates...

Unless...

No...

"Geralt!"

I'm costing lives with every second of hesitation.

What am I doing?

Move.

Leave.

What's that damn kid to me anyway?

...

No dice.

I have to go back.

Something's holding em up back there.

Thousands of inmates should be joining us.

The entrance is right there.

Yet...

I'm wracked by guilt.

When did i become so empathetic?

I was so ready to leave him back there.

He would have slowed me down.

And he did.

...

So why am I so concerned about whether he makes it out or not?

I look around, my entire unit holds their ground, no one says a word, save for the clashing steel.

All I gotta do is say the word.

But even if I told them to fall back, they'd probably just run to the exit anyway.

Who could blame them, I would too under any other circumstance.

I take one more look at these poor souls.

Broken, nothing left to lose.

Their faces betray the breaking point of all doomed men in a hopeless situation.

It would be callous and cruel to snatch this one victory away from them.

No.

I can't leave him.

Freya makes eye contact with me, a burly, heavily scarred man holding the line.

We served together in the war.

...This will be the last time I see him, I think.

"Freya, you're up, you know what to do."

His face is impassive, yet under the hard exterior of those garish features I can make something out...

Pity.

It's the same same look he had in district C.

_I won't survive if I go back._

He didn't agree with my decision back then either.

But he underestimates me.

I've done it once, I can do it again.

As if knowing he can't change my mind, I watch him shake his head in disgust, hiding a faint, yet barely discernible smile amidst the grime covering his face.

"Good luck."

Then, with a roar, he makes the final push in my place.

"Everyone, Let's go! PUSH!"

As if their entire lives had boiled down to this moment, the inmates surge forward and make a headlong charge through the front gates.

Gates no inmate has ever set foot past in over 200 years.

Oh how I wish I could join them.

With what is probably my last goodbye, I turn my back on the exit.

And run back into hell.

**Veigar POV**

An explosion of pain as I'm knocked back onto the ground, the concussion throwing my vision into disarray.

Hurt, I can only try and crawl to safety, though I can hear the footsteps less than a couple meters away.

A maddened cackle of laughter, he swings the axe head in a crescent, aiming to split me in half.

Instinct throws my body to the side, a desperate roll as the axe embeds itself into the ground inches from where I was.

The screech of metal as he drags the blade back to finish me off.

I will myself to move, nothing but sheer determination drags me to my feet.

The axe passes underneath me as I roll through another swing.

Another cruel laugh as I hit the ground with a dull thud, no energy left but to meekly crawl away.

This is the end.

Blood spatters the hard concrete, most of it is mine.

He's toying with me.

Left with no other evasive maneuvers I can only grunt in pain as he casually kicks me across the bloodstained prison yard.

The metal boot must have broken a couple ribs in the process, I cough up blood once I hit the ground.

I'm almost blinded by the pain, I can't even gasp for the air that I so desperately need.

My vision flashes red.

Delirious. I'm delirious.

"...Please...stop..."

The air is cut off and I begin to sputter, through my rapidly clouding vision I realize that he has a steel boot pressed down on my chest, that arrogant sneer glowering down

upon my broken form.

"Pathetic."

No...

I refuse to die here...!

Once again, I feel the rage boil over, my body mustering strength that I didn't know I had.

In a desperate gambit, I make a move for the sword, hilt knocked a couple inches out of my grip.

"Damn you...!" a flash of steel as I snatch the blade off the ground.

With a swift movement, he brings the boot off of my chest and slams it down on my right hand.

Hard.

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

The pain is blinding, I almost lose consciousness as he crushes the offending limb into nothing more than a mangled set of broken bones and sinew.

I realize that i'm screaming, I've never been in so much pain.

Through the tears, I look over and hopelessly watch him bring his foot off of my now ruined hand.

It's over.

"But you've had your fun, this is the end for you, die worm."

If only I was stronger.

I shut my eyes through both a mixture of pain and grief, cradling my right arm to stop the bleeding.

I've failed.

It looks like I won't be keeping any promises.

Moonlight reflects off of the raised Axe, I know that this is the end.

My life flashes before my eyes, my last thought is of Bandle City.

Home.

Slowly, my vision fades and I lose consciousness as the pendulum falls.

Perhaps I won't wake up this time.

* * *

**Geralt POV**

***SCHING***

The axe is deflected moments before slamming into his chest, jarring my arms from the impact, a massive shower of sparks illuminate the dried blood on his face and chest plate.

Another swing, I duck underneath the axe with a low forward stab, trying to get him under the lower half of his leg plating.

The sword skids off, I'm thrown off balance, I can already hear the axe winding up to finish me as I fall forward.

Only insanely quick reflexes keep my head intact, the axe barely grazing the tip of my ears as I complete the roll, the sword flashing in a blur of movement, I whip back the edge and slam it into the back of his sabatton, desperately trying to find a gap.

Again, the edge slides off, steel grating upon contact with his armored leg. Another swing, I dive over the axe head in a forward roll and stumble back a couple paces, the brief exchange already winding me down in a series of short, quick breaths, sweat matting on my blood soaked fur.

That was only a couple seconds, yet it's clear that i'm pretty screwed.

He's fast, way too fast for someone that size.

But still...

The kid lay unconscious behind me, his eyes shut, almost serene in his prone, helpless form.

Shit.

So long as he's unconscious, I'll have to hold him off.

For how long though...


	4. Chapter 4

**I don't remember his name.**

**My life has been nothing but a series of twisted paths and hatred.**

**Blinded by these things, I am unable to recall that...name.**

**In my quest for power I forsook the one memory...**

**...Just who was he?**

* * *

Lightning speed almost leaves me open for his next attack.

The ground shakes as I leap out of range, the axe was closer then it should have been.

He throws me a sneer, I barely have enough time to roll to the right as he lunges forward and buries the axe into the ground.

I have no way of gauging his distance, it's too dark, his approach could either be in 2 seconds or a fraction of that.

And he knows it.

The next strike comes at me from above, he jumps high and tries to slam the edge into my chest but I've already slid underneath him and darted around to his left flank.

I'm lucky that the full moon is out today, this would be even more difficult without his reflection giving himself away.

Unfortunately I can't formulate an attack plan without getting slashed to ribbons, the guy is quick and any of those blows that connect will be fatal.

Absolutely no mistakes can be made here, I have to stay on the back foot until I'm sure there's any opening.

How long I can do that however...

*SCHING*

My arms are jarred deflecting the axe.

Dust kicks up under my feet, I scramble backwards once I realize that he's already past the windup and entering another swing.

I'm full on retreating now.

"Die!"

Curses.

He's ruthless.

Even in the dark my eyes strain to make out the faintest opening.

There's no more room to evade, I have to break his momentum now or I'm finished.

His arms are raised, however it's a split second too late, I make my move.

I sprint forward in a low hunch, trying to angle myself under his swing while simultaneously going for the unarmored portion that is the gap in his leg plate.

One cut and his right tendon is gone.

One mistake however...

The moonlight reflects the axe head coming at inhuman speed.

It's like a steel pendulum under the night sky, I feel it bristle against my fur with a savage swing.

Time slows, he's missed.

Instincts are telling me to press on, thousands of battles fought under the Noxian banner have hammered the muscle memory of an opening into my minds eye.

I step forward and drive the sword forward, a brutal jab designed to go through mail and leather.

If I miss the plate opening my sword will probably shatter against the steel.

My heart beats, the angle is almost perfect...

Almost.

I hear him exhale as I draw blood, my heart beats again and time catches up.

He brings back his right foot and slams it into my chest with sufficient force to throw me off the ground and a couple feet away.

After a couple seconds of skidding along the dirt I bring myself to my feet and begin to size him up for another opening.

Looking at his right leg there's blood pouring onto the plated sabaton.

However, he's relatively unharmed.

I missed.

It pierced the small gap where both halves of the plate are fastened yet I couldn't sever the tendon, he was quick and had moved his leg back before I could continue the swing downward.

If I get another opening I'll have to be faster.

...If I get another opening, that is.

With a slow breath I grip my sword in both hands, hands raw from constant use.

I watch the axe casually swung back and forth over his shoulder, distance allowing a couple seconds of repose.

"You're good. Anyone else would be dead by now."

His words mean little, I level with him with an icy stare from across the dirt.

I gotta stall, there's no way I can win this.

That sneer grows even more pronounced, I can tell that he's enjoying this.

My fur is damp.

I realize it's raining.

Thunder can be heard as a storm rolls in.

"There's no pride to be had on the battlefield, you know."

There was once someone who fought because he was proud of his country.

Proud of his people.

Not anymore.

I guess you could say I've lost the taste for battle.

I've grown out of it.

That last battle I lost in Ionia should have been my last.

I remember watching those Noxians burn down my home.

Burn down everything I cared about.

Maybe I did die back there.

Maybe I've been dead this whole time and I've just been looking for a way out.

I steel the edge, the razor sharp blade of Noxian steel basks in the now heavy rain.

Its pouring.

In reality it's all meaningless, though.

Fight for a cause, die for one, who cares?

We all die in the end, the only thing that changes is how we choose to go.

His features grow serious, that mocking glint in his eye winks out.

"This is the end for you."

The thunder roars, his axe is thrust forth, point dripping with both rain and blood.

"Come, witness true strength!"

The blade grows heavy, yet I know that there's one more trick in this old bastards sleeve.

I might even live through this, who knows.

The lightning illuminates the sky, I have a clear shot at him at this point.

The lightning flashes once.

He dashes forward, every footfall can be heard, I listen to the sabaton click as the metal is set into place.

Twice.

The lightning reveals his presence, only a couple meters ahead, mid charge.

I've dropped all pretenses of defense and throw myself forward in a series of quick stabs.

My arms blur at the speed in which I throw out the sword, hoping to overwhelm him with a sheer number of attacks.

The counterswing comes. I hear it before the reflection of his axe comes into view.

It takes everything i've got to stop forward momentum and back off within a hairs breadth of its reach.

A split second later.

Slam*

He buries the axe into the mud centimeters from my position with a heavy thud.

The gears in my body begin to turn, I will my legs to move and once again I'm back on the offensive.

Running up the axe handle, I make a swing towards his neck, the steel cuts through water droplets and begins to hiss with bloody anticipation.

My eyes widen with shock.

What-

His arm comes from the side and into the ground with a mailed fist.

A second later and the pain rivets my body, I gasp for air, my throat burns as blood is forced out of my mouth in a crimson spray.

He reaches for the axe, a squelch as it's wrenched out of the mud, I swallow the bile and rush to his exposed side.

Just as quickly as he grabbed the handle, he makes a swing with the same movement.

Both hands shake as I knock the axe away from me.

The reverberation almost makes me lose my grip on the sword, the force alone cuts my palm into the hilt, blood is beginning to smear along the bandaged handle.

But i'm close enough.

Once again, the opening in my minds eye shows me the way.

His right leg once again, it's out of position.

I duck through another swing and roll, bringing myself past his left flank, I raise the sword.

The cut is perfect.

I sever the tendon with one blow.

"You don't have what it takes to kill me!" He roars as I run around to his other side, we're both drenched under the rainfall.

I press forward with another swing, he whips back the axe handle and slams it against the edge, I feel the sword crack slightly.

Another swing, he parries the edge with his own, he doesn't have the speed to evade my blows like before.

He has to meet them head on or get picked apart by my superior agility.

That said...

my sword is going to break at this rate, the steel was never meant to handle sustained blows like this.

Every swing is fatal, if I'm hit directly even once he'll easily tear me to shreds.

That can't happen.

Yet at the same time I have to close in order to take advantage of an opening.

There's a risk with every move, this fight can only be won with a gambit.

My sword won't last much longer, this has to end now while he's vulnerable.

Digging my feet into the mud, I brace myself.

The scenery changes, the rain becomes fire.

The mud becomes nothing more than smoking craters.

The smell of burnt flesh and charcoal fill the air.

Ionia.

I remember making that final charge with my men.

Suicide.

Of course my own arrogance is what got them all killed.

Defeat was something I had never tasted before.

It was bitter.

And the aftertaste never went away.

The scenery shifts back, something in his eye gave it away.

Did he see a ghost?

I sure did.

The mana surges through my body as I tap into my last reserves of strength.

For the first time, he looks a bit worried.

I know he can sense it.

My final gambit.

I can feel the mana reserves from his side as well, he won't be able to avoid this, not with his slowed movement at least.

This battle will be decided here.

The axe begins to glow red hot, he readies his signature move.

The lightning flashes one final time.

I charge, he's braced for my approach, axe ready for the final blow.

Time slows, he jumps high into the air, I feel the sword glow as I thrust it forward into the sky.

It's an unblockable strike.

No matter what shield, armor, or barrier stands in my way it will be shattered.

"Noxus will rise, but you won't live long enough to see it!"

The axe comes down, I feel the edge pass through me with a spray of gore, I wince in pain.

I've run out of life force, his blow was clearly fatal.

The sword makes contact, I feel the point slam into the spiked plate with explosive impact.

We are suspended in the air, time has slowed to almost a crawl.

I feel death trying to take me, my body is shutting down.

Not yet...

"Not...YET!"

He's done for.

Ripples of blue energy emanate from the point of impact, with a roar, I push through the plate and force the rest of my strength into the blade...

Just a bit more...

The plate slowly gives way, I can feel the impending final blow.

A final layer of steel is muscled through, I slam the tip home, the blue sheen focused on that one point...

But the edge snaps at the hilt, and the blade itself shatters into a thousand shimmering, metal pieces.

Impossible.

The mana dissapates, time speeds back up, and I hit the ground with a dull thud, blood spraying out of the diagonal gash made in my chest.

Damn.

I should have known the sword wouldn't have held, it was already chipped from the constant fighting, there was no way that would have worked.

...

He got me good, a clean cross from my right shoulder to my left abdomen.

Looking up towards the night sky, I close my eyes for the last time, and sigh, the pool of rain around my corpse quickly turning a bright crimson, my life force spilling onto the wet concrete below.

I can't help but smile.

So this is how it ends...


End file.
